


Shaky Hands

by softelmax



Series: Whumptober 2019 [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: (kind of???), Angst, Canon Divergence, Disabled Character, Disabled!El, F/F, Whump, Whumptober 2019, elmax - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-16 16:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20865347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softelmax/pseuds/softelmax
Summary: Sometimes El falls apart. Max is always there to pick up the pieces





	Shaky Hands

**Author's Note:**

> So this is an AU where instead of El just getting a cut on her leg, she gets a major injury (presumably neurological).   
DISCLAIMER: I am in no way intending to come off as ableist. I am disabled myself, i’m a full time cane user and part time wheelchair user. the anger and grief portrayed is based on my PERSONAL experiences with disability. everyone’s is different.

El regretted a lot. She regretted everything that she’d ever done that led up to that day in the mall. When she lost both her father and the control of her body. She had spent Hopper’s funeral in the hospital, fighting for her life. She went to his wake in a wheelchair.

She thought all this, while laying in bed. Looking at the glow in the dark stars glued to her ceiling.  
It was two years ago today. And she was going out with Max as a distraction. Mike was long gone.  
Mike wouldn’t stay through the rehab, he couldn’t handle it.  
Max did. Max could.  
Mike wouldn’t look at her broken body.  
Max would.  
Mike left.  
Max didn’t.  
Max loved her.  
Mike didn’t.  
She didn’t feel hostility towards him. It was too much for her to handle. At least he had a choice.  
El had only an hour and a half to get ready. Plenty of time for normal people but almost impossible for her.  
She sat up and winced. Her leg ached. She knew it was better to get it over with so she swung her legs over the side of her bed as quickly as she could. Despite being careful to not hit her legs on anything, The movement still sent a ripple of pain up and down her body. Her vision went blurry and black around the edges as she gripped her blankets and tried to stay conscious. Once it faded and she could function again. She pushed herself into a sitting position with her feel on the floor. She glared at the cane next to her bed. It stood there. mocking her. She wanted to throw it across the room, snap it in half, melt it into a puddle of demeaning metal. Logically, she knew the inanimate tube of mental that she hated so much wasn’t at fault for her current situation. In fact, it was meant to help. And to a degree it did. But she still hated it because she always felt that people stared. Max had pointed out that she was being ridiculous and her clinging to her girlfriends arm and barely dragging herself down the street was more obvious. Besides if anyone if so much as looked at her funny, she’d beat their asses. And El didn’t doubt it. Max wasn’t a violent person, if anyone was mean to her friends then they’re over.  
Troy is still terrified of her and he hasn’t even spoken to Will in 2 years.  
Joyce and the doctors had originally pushed for her to use a wheelchair but she liked that idea way less than the cane. So she had agreed to give it a try. For now.  
The bed creaked as El slowly stretched her (semi) good arm out to get her cane. She got it, bending her back at a highly painful angle to reach it. She used it to pull her self upright. She took her clothes off the hanger and slowly set her cane down, taking great care in not dropping it and making sure that she had a desk to grip onto with one hand. She took off her pajama bottoms and shakily unbuttoned her shirt . Her only accomplishment through PT was being able to dress and undress herself. She still struggled with buttoning shirts but those aren’t nearly as embarrassing to ask your mom for help with as jeans or bras.  
She stepped into her dress. It was a v-neck flowey black dress with roses on it. It was still pretty, but didn’t show any of her scars. She studied herself in the mirror. The girl in the mirror was grimacing in pain. The girl did not look as happy and bubbly as she did a two years ago.  
El did a half twirl and her dress fanned out. She smiled, but the smile melted off her face when she saw it.  
Her dress didn’t cover the scar on her thigh. It was huge, and ugly, and bright pink in the cold. There was no covering it.  
She blinked away tears.  
The one day she felt okay.  
The one day she was supposed to go out like a normal 15 year old.  
The one day she was confident.  
Ruined. Just like her.  
She couldn’t help it. Her eyes welled up in tears that streamed down her cheeks. Ruined. That’s her. Ruined.  
The words echoed in her mind, repeating over and over. Every repeat felt like a new stab to the chest. It was death by a thousand cuts and she was bleeding out. She knew she was being dramatic, but it was a reminder of how much life hurts. Her world spins and she collapsed to her knees. She knew she’d pay for that later, but at that moment she wanted nothing more but to pound her fists against the ground, screaming like a toddler in a toy store. But she couldn’t so she didn’t. El sat there, on her knees. listening to the clock ticking. She closed her eyes. Trying to focus on the clock and the breathing exercises Dr. Owens told her about.  
She was in a purgatory mental space, feeling numb and fully on the floor when she heard distant voices and someone coming upstairs. She heard the creaking of her door open. El knew it was Max before with her back to the door before she even said anything. She had memorized all her girlfriend’s moves and step patterns. She knew how to tell the difference between Max’s breathing and everyone else’s, and how she silently cleared her throat before she said anything, and how her hair moved when she tossed her head back laughing. El knew everything about her. Not in a stalker way, this was all information she had gathered through Max staying with her in a small hospital room followed by a rehab center for almost 12 months.  
“Hey El! Came a bit early to see if you needed hel- Oh my god are you okay? Did you fall? Want me to get Joyce?”  
El propped herself up on her elbows, trying to prove that she was okay and alive. “I’m fine.”  
“Why are you on the floor? and- oh...have you been crying?”  
El laughed but it sounded unnatural and panicked. “Nooo. I was just..tired”  
Max sat down next to her on El’s bedroom floor.  
“You already know what I’m going to say next. It’s okay to not be okay.”  
El’s eyes stung again as she stared down at her lap. Max always knew when something was wrong.  
“Can I ask you something?”  
“Always”  
Would you....would you... never mind. It’s dumb.”  
“I’m sure it’s not.” Max put her hand on El’s shoulder and her blue eyes stared into El’s brown.  
“Would you like me more if I was normal? I mean. it’s not like there’s much for you here. I’m a broken person.”  
Her voice cracked at the last part.  
Max’s eyes widened.  
“Hon...no of course not. And you’re not a broken person. You’re just injured.”  
She took a breath.  
“I loved you when we were 13 and I love you now”  
Max looked at her a little too long for it to be an offhand comment. Her words were filled with meaning.  
“I love you too”  
Max smiled and cupped El’s cheek. She kissed her and El knew it’d be alright eventually.

**Author's Note:**

> okay so this is for whumptober 2019 and i KNOW this is day one’s prompt and i’m kinda behind. But i like do how this turned out. this is more general angst than whump but i already had this half written and one of the these days i’m going to right a prologue to this.


End file.
